Mercy, Love, And Other Useless Things
by sarcasticapostate
Summary: An account of Niamh Cousland & company's various hijinks across the countryside of Thedas. Crows become companions, your best friend turns out to be a bard, and dinners are poisonous. Written in a series of vignettes with multiple viewpoints. Alistair/F!Cousland.
1. Chapter 1

**This Is A Terrible Idea**

_otherwise known as_

**Dammit, Alistair, What The Hell Is This Stuff?**

_Leave_, her mother had said.

_Do your duty, _her father had said.

_Join us, _Duncan had said.

And now they were all dead and Alistair was trying to kill her with some bizarre stew that was growling at her. And here she thought _Zevran_ would be the one to attempt murder. Turns out she should've been watching Alistair all this time.

"Oh, come on. It's not that bad. You're being dramatic."

She _knew _joining the Grey Wardens was a bad idea.


	2. Chapter 2

To say Alistair didn't trust Zevran would be an understatement.

It wasn't just that he'd tried to _kill _them (although really, who attempts to assassinate the last two Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden? That's just irresponsible). And it wasn't that Zevran was constantly flirting - with Wynne, or Leliana or even _Morrigan_. If Zevran had a death wish, Alistair wasn't about to go diving in to rescue him. And it definitely wasn't that Zevran was way better looking than Alistair was. He was an elf. Girls liked elves, didn't they? Especially sneaky assassin types.

Really, Alistair's intense dislike all came down to this:

Zevran made Niamh _laugh_.

He was watching them now, from the other side of the campfire. Zevran smirking - actually smirking! - at her, arm braced against her other hip as he leaned in uncomfortably close. Niamh throwing her head back and laughing, firelight glancing off midnight black hair.

Yup.

He was jealous.

And Alistair really did not like the feeling.

He'd never been jealous before, not _really. _He'd been envious when the other boys went out to play at being knights, and he'd been envious when every other boy got their first kiss and bragged about darkened doorways and rough skirts. He'd been envious when he'd look out the Chantry windows and saw parents walking hand-in-hand with their children. Alistair wasn't a stranger to _envy_.

But then again, envy and actual, red-hot jealousy were two different things, weren't they? Because Alistair couldn't remember ever actually wanting to _kill _those other boys the way he wanted to kill Zevran right now.

"Alli?"

Niamh raised an eyebrow at him, standing at the entrance to her - their - tent. "You coming?"

"Oh. Uh. Yes. Hold on."

He rose awkwardly, too-long legs cramped from sitting too long glaring at Zevran flirt shamelessly with Niamh. He made a point to avoid eye contact with Zevran until he brushed aside the flap to the tent. Then, and only then, did he turn and grin at a bewildered Zevran.

_Hah!_


	3. Chapter 3

Hope was a dangerous thing.

When he'd seen the rose he'd been possessed with a temporary fit of insanity. That was really the only reason he could justify picking it up and carefully sliding it into his bag, like some lovestruck boy preening for a standoffish girl he had absolutely no hope with... which was what he was, now that he thought about it.

Maybe it was the way she'd listened when he told her about his bastard blood (_so you're a _royal _bastard?_) before promptly hauling him off to Redcliffe without so much as an offended remark, or how she'd quietly listen to him complain and whine about Duncan until he remembered she'd lost her entire family too - _Maker_, he'd been stupid. Or how he knew she'd always resented Duncan in a small, tiny part of her, because he'd saved _her _and not her mother or her father or literally anyone else in the castle, and yet one day he'd stumbled across her praying next to a river with candles lit for everyone lost at Ostagar and Castle Cousland - with even one for Duncan.

Either way, he'd ignored the whisper of magic that came nestled between the petals - there were worse things than apostates right now, he supposed he'd learnt to compartmentalize although Alistair seriously doubted he'd ever get used to Morrigan - and, later that night when they made camp, with Sten the Qunari glaring from one side and Leliana the Chantry Sister humming on the other, he'd given it to her, trying to control his blush and fidgeting nervously.

And then when she'd smiled and kissed him on his cheek, thanking him softly, he decided maybe hope wasn't so dangerous after all.


End file.
